If I Stay✔️

66

tw; marco, mental illness, sa, drugs.
A/N: start is tough to read, be prepared.

L E O

I wake up in a cold sweat. My limbs tremble, my ears ring, and my heart pounds against my rib cage as if it's desperately seeking escape.

I grip my childhood blanket tightly, pulling it up to my chin like some sort of safety net that will miraculously save me from drowning. I inhale the scent of home, relishing in the short comfort it provides as I choke back a sob.

It's just a dream, he's not here.

I hate this. I hate that I've been stupid enough to allow myself to feel normal. Whether it be for a second, a minute, an hour or maybe (on the rarest of occasions) even a day, that time is never enough. My mind will always be here to remind me that normality is never something I should become familiar with.

Black, purple, red, green. Black, purple, red, green. Black, purple, red, green.

The mantra repeats to me, reminding me of my every fear, my every weakness, every God damn fucking memory — fucking mistake. He's carved himself into me, scarred me with his words, his actions, his teeth. I'll never be free, not really. Marco will always be this monster invading me, crushing me with the weight of his own cruel intentions.

Black, purple, red, green. Black, purple, red, green. Black, purple, red, green.

I feel like I'm drifting away, floating into the darkest parts of my mind. I crave it; something, anything that will take this feeling away from me. Where is Brody when I fucking need him. I shouldn't have asked for the cigarettes. I should've asked for something stronger, something powerful enough to dull this never ending fucking ache in my head.

Slowly, I untangle myself from my sweat soaked sheets. I glance around the room, searching for any signs of danger, any signs of him. My eyes linger on the gentle rise and fall of Oliver's chest. My hands tremble more knowing that I'm not alone. Somewhere deep in the back of my head, I know he'd never hurt me. But right now? Now, I believe everyone will hurt me. It doesn't matter who they are to me, if they've never given me a reason to doubt them; the voices overpower everything I want to feel.

Black, purple, red, green. Black, purple, red, green. Black, purple, red, green.

I stand from the bed, my knees almost giving way as I do. I look at my bedsheets, frowning when I see no red stain on the white sheet. It makes no sense... there's always a stain, always.

Every. Single. Time.

It was a dream, just a dream.

But it wasn't. It was real. Everything he done to me, everything I felt, everything I'm feeling; it's all real. Maybe not in this moment, but it did happen. I did feel it, I do feel it.

Black, purple, red, green. Black, purple, red, green. Black, purple, red, green.

I pull my t-shirt off, running my eyes along every inch of my unblemished flesh. Purple, purple, purple, purple. Where is the purple? Why is there no purple?

Purple, purple, purple, purple.

"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up." I grip my hair tightly, pulling the strands so hard that I can feel every hair follicle snap from its root. Curls latch themselves between my finger tips, clumps of hair dead in each of my palms.